The Grief of a Child’s Diagnosis
For her ninth birthday, my daughter wanted to chop off her long hair into a sweet chin-length bob. As I watched the scissors slice through her thick hair, I felt a wave of grief rush over me. It felt like just yesterday that I stood behind her at the bathroom sink and slowly cut off her hair until there was only fuzz left. The chemotherapy had caused it to fall out in chunks, and in her brave four-year-old voice, she had asked me to cut off the rest. Now, years later, a simple haircut brought back waves of memories, gratitude, and grief.
That’s the reality of parenting a child with a diagnosis. Whether it is a short-term illness or a long-term disorder, grief becomes part of our mothering story. There is the initial shock of the diagnosis, the ongoing waves of loss, and, eventually, the reality of living with a quiet undercurrent of grief. Thankfully, as believers, it is not grief without hope. But how exactly do we live with that tension?
The Initial Grief
I’ve talked with many women who have received a sobering diagnosis for their child. Almost all of them describe feeling intense grief. Why do you think we experience this—even if our child’s diagnosis isn’t life-threatening? There are many factors at play, but I know for myself, one reason I grieve is because, in my definition of love, I think my children should have easy lives free of obstacles or pain.
Do you have that longing too? To shelter your children from hardships and provide them with a smooth, predictable, and easy life?
That moment when a doctor looks you in the eye and says, “Your child has ___” is life-altering in part because our plans and expectations fly out the window. It makes sense that there will be grief over that loss, but we also have a choice to make. We can allow this grief to define our motherhood, or we can hold grief in one hand and cling to hope in the other.
In Ephesians 2:1-10, Paul talks about how we were once dead in our sin, but Christ has made us alive! By God’s rich mercy, his grace saves us and reveals immeasurable riches that are ours through Christ. But those gifts are only received because our old selves have been put to death. In a sense, grief leads to an abundant life. And part of that abundance is getting the privilege of walking in the life-giving story God has prepared for us.
So when we hear that initial diagnosis, we have an opportunity to take our grief to Jesus and ask him to help us see how his plan for our child’s life is different than ours. We can ask the Lord to give us gratitude and joy for the unique way he has created our child and the good works he has prepared in advance for them.[1]
The Waves of Ongoing Grief
Oh! But I know that believing those things in our heads is not the same as having them settle into our hearts. Grief is sneaky, and even when we believe that something is part of God’s plan and for our child’s good, that doesn’t mean we won’t continue to grieve in unexpected ways.
I have heard so many moms apologize for the things they have grieved because of their child’s diagnosis. They tentatively share their sorrow and then cover it with: “I know it could be worse!” But trying to compare our stories robs us of the opportunity to lean more heavily on Jesus. When we ignore the ongoing waves of grief, we miss an opportunity to grow in our faith. For faith isn’t about the tangible things in front of us; it’s about having certainty in things hoped for and having confidence in things unseen.[2]
When we see another child do something our child can’t, or we are reminded of the hardships our child has endured—we get to practice living in that tension of grief and hope. We get to invite Jesus into those painful places and ask him to reshape our perspective. We get to start from knowing the Lord loves our child and then find all the unexpected ways he is displaying that love, even now.
What a gift to see our need for Jesus. We don’t have to build a bunker from the ongoing waves of grief; we can ride them into the arms of Christ.
The New Normal of Grief
I remember the first time I visited a friend at the same hospital where our daughter had been treated. I zipped down there knowing exactly where to park and how to navigate the hallways. I knew where to get a coffee and which elevator was slowest. The very things that had once intimidated me now felt normal. And I cried.
The truth is that some of our children’s diagnoses are so painful that we don’t ever want it to feel normal. But praise God that he is gentle and kind with our grieving hearts. Slowly but surely, as we hold grief and hope together, the Lord begins to show us what his plan has been from the beginning.
What if our daughter’s diagnosis becomes God’s love language to her because of the unique way she’ll walk through life? What if a scary doctor’s note on our son’s medical record is the mode in which God reveals precious gospel realities to him—the hidden treasures of his nearness, love, mercy, and abundance?
And God is not just working in our child’s life; he wants to use this diagnosis to change us as moms too. He’ll grow our dependence on Jesus, our longing for eternity, our hunger for God’s Word, and our delight in prayer. And eventually, I believe he invites us to share the hope of the gospel to other moms too. Perhaps we’ve been called into this ministry of caregiving for such a time as this.
So let’s ride these waves of grief together. Let’s ride them straight into the arms of Christ.
[1] Ephesians 2:10
[2] Hebrews 11:1
